Six months later.

Six months later I’m still thinking of you.
Do I want to?
That’s not something my brain nor heart wants to wrap itself around.
You’ve clearly moved on – or so it seems.
Why don’t you want to speak to me?
Am I that bad of a person to not deserve one more try at this friendship?

I’m still coming to terms.
Terms with why you never told me how your heart and mind were falling apart.
Terms with why all the plans we made were never to be executed.
Terms with why you broke everything we had built together…

You executed this.

Your hand reached for my hand and we swung our arms in sync as we walked away from football practice.
I thought – this could be it.

But it wasn’t.

It was a year of fun and a year of good company.
But nothing was enough.
Enough to see you happy.
Enough to see me happy again.
Enough to help each other come out of this hole we were stuck in.
Enough to hold us together…

Six months later and I don’t want you the way I used to want you.
I want you as a friend.
I miss your laughs, your knowledge, your positive energy.

I hope you found your sparkle again.
I dulled you even though you thought it was the other way around.
I didn’t know you were unhappy.
I would never want you to be unhappy – especially because of me.

Six months later…
I think and am constantly thinking that I’m doing better.
Better to live my days without melancholy.
Better to strive to be the best of me without my number one supporter.
Better without the man who used to have nothing but my whole heart.